


How to Save A Life

by CinnamonnyBunny



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Crying, Gen, I was unhappy with how he never seemed to process Ambie's death so, I'm so sorry Ratchet, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Misunderstandings, Short One Shot, have a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonnyBunny/pseuds/CinnamonnyBunny
Summary: Following Luna 1, Ratchet has some regrets... but he's never been good at letting that show.





	How to Save A Life

The service had been his idea.

Rodimus had, of course, stated his intention to hold a funeral for Ambulon anyway upon their return from Luna-1, but Ratchet had pushed the issue after asking him for a private meeting. The young captain had given him a very long look, measuring the way he held himself and the expression he wore, but as always, the old medic was stone-faced, his field held so close it may as well have been tucked beneath his plating.

It was a matter of respect for a damn good physician who hadn’t deserved the sort of violent, cold death he’d been given.

For an ex-Decepticon, Ambulon had been well liked. It was almost a surprise to him to see how many had shown up amongst the mourners, but then, medics were hard to come by after the war. Though it had never been explicitly stated, both sides had started to target medics by the end. Optimus had never approved, but there were a lot of Autobots, and not everyone thought that avoiding going after those who could heal was the best of ideas. Ratchet himself had been targeted many more times than he cared to count.

But what Pharma had done…

His hands clenched against his arms, still folded over his broad chestplate as he listened to Ultra Magnus- no, Minimus Ambus- give a touching, if a bit clinical, speech in honor of the departed. Pharma. Pharma of Vos, his oldest friend, and then some. To see what he’d become was sparkbreaking. He was an amazing surgeon, one of the finest sparkologists Ratchet knew, and some days he wondered why he himself was picked over Pharma for the chief medic position. He sometimes groused that Optimus had done it out of nepotism, something that had gotten him firmly reprimanded by his long-time amica endura, but he knew a lot of people who had thought it. At the end of the day, it came down to a lot of factors.

He’d always worried Pharma was jealous. Having the confirmation of it, seeing the broken parts of him laid bare, watching in horror as he ended poor Ambulon’s short life in one downwards sweep of a chainsaw… it was a hurt on a level he wasn’t sure he could articulate.

And poor Ambulon… he’d witnessed the horrors at Delphi, and likely worse while he was with the Decepticons prior to his defection. The Lost Light may have been chaotic, but it was likely a fair bit calmer, and it was a good position for someone with his skills. He may not have had any real formal training, but he made up for it in what he’d managed to pick up from other medics along the way. He wasn’t a superlearner, but he was good, and that’s all that mattered to Ratchet.

As Ultra Magnus stopped talking, Ratchet let out a quiet ex-vent, his attention turning to where First Aid stood next to him. The young CMO in training was shaking just faintly, arms folded tightly across his waist, face turned towards the floor. It was no secret to those in the science, medical, and engineering areas of the ship that he and Ambulon had been close… close enough that Ratchet had suspected they’d been discussing the conjunx rites. Seeing how furious First Aid was when Pharma had killed their companion had not been a surprise, and he had tried to react as gently as possible when the young medic’s reaction had been to kill his former officer so brutally.

He had almost wanted to do it himself, but a personal rule of his own was unless it was necessary, unless there was no alternative, death should always be a last resort.

With the service concluded, everyone began to mill around, but he noticed First Aid didn’t move. The young medic’s field was tumultuous, rough against where he had his own so tightly held against his own frame. What was bothering him was bothering him deeply.

And, finally, he decided to air that.

“I know he was a Decepticon, but the least you could do is show something,” he muttered, just loud enough for Ratchet to hear. “You’ve just stood there the whole service, just… staring. Do you not care? Or did you just come to make sure he was dead?”

Ratchet’s hands tightened again, and the emotions he’d buried so firmly behind his spark pressed hard. God, this hurt more than First Aid could possibly realize, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself show that weakness, couldn’t let those walls down for a second, not in front of someone else. If he did, he might never get them back up.

In a sudden moment, one that surprised even him, he found himself missing Drift. His presence, frustrating as he was, had always been calming.

“I never said that. I’m sorry he’s gone.”

First Aid tensed visibly, and now his face swung up to his mentor’s, and Ratchet could see those pale blue optics burning bright behind his visor. “So what is it, then? Is it because he was an MTO? Was he just not good enough for you to even be bothered to care?”

Unable to match that accusatory gaze, Ratchet turned his head away, frown deepening the world-weary lines in the pliant metal mesh of his face. “I care more than you know.”

“And how am I supposed to be expected to believe that?! You never spoke for him, you never even showed any kind of remorse when Pharma killed him! Surprised and then you moved on. Did it even register to you that he’d died while you were turning him into a weapon?! A weapon that I-...” He trailed off, a hiccup catching his vocalizer. “Whatever. It's... fine, it's whatever. I’m going. Do what you want. I’ll see you in the medbay.”

He stormed off without giving Ratchet much time to respond, and finally let out a quiet sigh, optics dimming before he pushed off the wall. He needed to get back to work.

* * *

Ratchet’s office was blissfully silent when he slipped in, using the hall entrance to avoid running into First Aid. Down to two medics now… what a mess. Locking the door behind him, he stood for a moment before his tanks clenched hard, leaning back against the door to cover his face with one hand.

One more name. One more person, in his care, that he couldn’t save. Another mark, more fuel on his hands. His damn foolish pride, his insistence on goading Pharma on when he knew the mech was cracked in the processor... 

The first sob came before he could choke it back, an awful, choked sound guttering his vents, strong enough to jerk his whole upper body forward. More followed, and slowly he let his frame slide down the door until he was seated on the floor below him, hand over his mouth, trying desperately to quiet the awful weeping that was wrenched from his old frame.

Ambulon hadn’t deserved it. He was a good mech, young, a fine medic and a good friend. He had been part of what had made Ratchet reevaluate his view of MTOs, and he’d even been helping him learn the ins and outs of surgical procedures he’d never learned.

Well now he would never have a chance to learn them, would he? And all because Ratchet couldn’t shut his fool mouth.

The guild, the sorrow, the miserable grief… all of it welled up from a place inside him he kept tucked so deeply away that only a couple of mecha even knew. The long war had forced him to reevaluate how he handled things. Professionalism only got you so far when numbers dwindled and medics were forced to forgo protocol and operate on the people they cared about. He’d had to push those feelings deep, back and away, somewhere they couldn’t hurt him.

But Ambulon’s death was a crack in the dam. He would fill it, patch it up, push the thoughts back again and try to ignore the ache in his spark, but as the optical lubricant fell down his cheeks, it was hard to remind himself of that.

He retched twice through the awful sobbing, though nothing came of it- he hadn’t fueled in at least two days, anxiety in his mourning preventing him from keeping much of anything down. His fans had redlined and his plating was flared by the time the weeping started to still, and he was shaking so hard he felt like the whole ship could hear his armor rattle.

Thank goodness for insulated walls.

With shaking hands, the old medic wiped his face, trying to right himself. He would need to sit in here for a while… he didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, even if it may have appeased First Aid’s worries that the legendary CMO was just as cold and impersonal as everyone tended to claim. Old war stories of an old soldier who hadn’t lost his ability to care… he just ached with the depth of it.

He would return to work on his shift later in the afternoon, cleaned up and stone faced. First Aid, he knew, likely wouldn’t talk to him for some time yet. But now that they were down to only two regular medics, it was doubtful he would avoid him long, even if those pale optics burned with fury behind his visor. The junior medic, his successor, was as professional as he was, even if it sometimes took him a bit to get there. He would learn.

Just like Ratchet learned.

Quieting his racing spark, the old ambulance pushed himself to his pedes, furious at how unsteady he felt and how his tanks churned. He would grab some concentrate gels later so that his energy levels wouldn’t drop too low, at least… and he would go back to work like nothing had happened.

Ambulon deserved so much better. That he would never get it was as much his fault as his death.

**Author's Note:**

> Step one you say we need to talk  
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk  
He smiles politely back at you  
You stare politely right on through  
Some sort of window to your right  
As he goes left and you stay right  
Between the lines of fear and blame  
And you begin to wonder why you came
> 
> Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I known how to save a life


End file.
